[seasonal event] fell to the top

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

The Reaper’s glance lingered on the canopies, the tops of boughs and branches again, eyes seeking to derive the inner workings of magic and their elemental graces. He wondered how they obtained their incantations, if it was from the power of the leaves, the roots, the ground, the earth itself, or if it was vice versa, with the world around them benefitting from the enchantments layered within. How did those Abandoned come to fruition? In the same regard, bloodline after bloodline, passed down generation after generation, veins churning with magic with the first heartbeat, the first breath of air? The Reaper never truly thought of it: perhaps taking the deadly nuances and notions within his soul for granted, and then gaining more as the days dragged on. How? Why? But he listened to Jigano’s responses too, pondering the length of them over – creation was something, but only if they could concoct or construct something the Fae didn’t have. As for disaster and ruin, he wasn’t certain if they’d be impressed or even more guarded – and certainly not if it was amongst or amidst their living space. “It is likely they would find destruction a threat.” He arched a brow and hid the fathoms of a mischievous smile; he was akin to abhorrence, vehemence, and chaos, but the potency and power laced in the throng, in the din, in the calamity and acrimony of wrath and contempt wouldn’t lead anyone to the promised land – he’d know firsthand. It would make everything that much worse. The Fae in general seemingly had a remarkable amount of tales, triumphs, and mercurial endeavors, but the one that hit closest to him had been the sacrifices, the immolations, those offerings of their kin. “And why would it require memories?” He muttered, aloud, trying to pry open a lock that had yet to budge. What did it gain from someone’s happiness? Someone’s melancholy? Someone’s vengeance? A way to mark and maim them at a later time? A way to find strength in another’s convictions? “To what purpose?” The Reaper’s brow furrowed – in another time and place, he would’ve been barking at the monster’s door, demons face-to-face, a fiendish growl on his lips, weapon in hand, and misunderstandings, complexities shorn. At the comment about a poet in him, he snorted, shuffling right back to his silence. There was nothing he could do or say to counter the point; only fully aware of what he was like, and it wasn’t in the outreaches of laureates and lyricists. “We will have to try that then.” It was the start of a plan, which was better than nothing at all – but an overwhelming, daunting task, when a multitude of them were either guarded, suspicious, or not interested at all. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate